"No, sir. I often sneezes like that, and no reason for it whatever."

"I've never noticed it before."

"No, sir. I keeps it under so well as I can. A great deal can be
done sometimes by pressing your thumb on the upper lip."

"Ah, well! So long as it's not a cold--" returned the Captain, and
broke off to arrange his air-cushion over the depressed muzzle of
Thundering Meg. Hereupon he took his seat, adjusted the lapels of
his great-coat over his knees, and gave way to gloomy reflection.

Sergeant Fugler was at the bottom of it. Sergeant Fugler, the best
marksman in the Company, was a hard drinker, with a hobnailed liver.
He lay now in bed with that hobnailed liver, and the Doctor said it
was only a question of days. But why should this so extraordinarily
discompose Captain Pond, who had no particular affection for Fugler,
and knew, besides, that all men--and especially hard drinkers--are
mortal?

The answer is that the East and West Looe Volunteer Artillery was no
ordinary Company. When, on the 16th of May, 1803, King George told
his faithful subjects, who had been expecting the announcement for
some time, that the Treaty of Amiens was no better than waste paper,
public feeling in the two Looes rose to a very painful pitch.
The inhabitants used to assemble before the post-office, to hear the
French bulletins read out; and though it was generally concluded that
they held much falsehood, yet everybody felt misfortune in the air.
Rumours flew about that a diversion would be made by sending an army
into the Duchy to draw the troops thither while the invaders directed
their main strength upon London. Quiet villagers, therefore, dwelt
for the while in a constant apprehension, fearing to go to bed lest
they should awake at the sound of the trumpet, or in the midst of the
French troops; scarcely venturing beyond sight of home lest,
returning, they should find the homestead smoking and desolate.
Each man had laid down the plan he should pursue. Some were to drive
off the cattle, others to fire the corn. While the men worked in the
fields, their womankind--young maids and grandmothers, and all that
could be spared from domestic work--encamped above the cliffs,
wearing red cloaks to scare the Frenchmen, and by night kept big
bonfires burning continually. Amid this painful disquietude of the
public mind "the great and united Spirit of the British People armed
itself for the support of their ancient Glory and Indep